


the fire still burning

by coricomile



Series: The Dislocated Room - Winterhawk Week 2015 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Winterhawk Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't have to keep the armor on," Bucky says. He checks his scope, breathes out a low sound of irritation, and shakes out his metal arm. It's got to be as hot as a brand, stuck right under a vicious ray of sun. His other arm is bare and going slowly red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the fire still burning

**Author's Note:**

> Day Theee: Hot

Clint's back itches like mad. He scratches it with the tip of an arrow, trying to dig in past the thick padding of his armor, but the sweat there is drying and gathering and drying again, making his skin feel tight. He's wearing a bandana around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes and it's gotten too heavy.

"Ever wonder why we wear black in the desert?" He asks, turning his head just enough to see Bucky out of the corner of his eye. Bucky's laying flat on his stomach, eyes squinted against the sun, rifle tucked just under his chest. 

"Because SHIELD is full of masochists," he says without looking up. They've both got grease paint smeared across their eyes to kill the glare, and Clint can feel where his is running, itching against his cheeks. On the upside, Bucky looks like a shaggy raccoon. It's almost worth it. 

"Takes one to know one," Clint mutters, poking at his back again. 

They're on bodyguard duty for a prince of some nowhere country, which is the worst kind of assignment. At least with hits there's a clear job: shoot the target, clean up the body, and go home. Bodyguarding is a lot of hanging out on rooftops and being bored. Two more days, he tells himself. Two more days and he can reconnect with sweet, sweet air conditioning. He can't wait. 

"You don't have to keep the armor on," Bucky says. He checks his scope, breathes out a low sound of irritation, and shakes out his metal arm. It's got to be as hot as a brand, stuck right under a vicious ray of sun. His other arm is bare and going slowly red. 

"You just want me to get naked," Clint says. Bucky raises an eyebrow and shrugs. 

"Yeah, so?" He asks. Clint prods him in the back with his boot before kicking it off. The other follows, and then his vest. He feels better as soon as the kevlar's off, even though the sun is touching him directly. He scratches the small of his back and moans. Christ, that feels good. 

Bucky's still watching him, eyes dark under the paint. Clint unbuckles his belt, unbuttons all ten tiny buttons of his fly, and shoves his pants and boxers down. It's unprofessional as all hell and he's got the feeling that he's going to have to do some naked shooting in the near future, but he's done worse. Bucky wraps one hand around Clint's knee and yanks him down, catching him before Clint topples off the edge of the roof. 

"Ow, ow, ow, watch the bits." Clint kicks halfheartedly at Bucky's shin, twisting to try to see the scrapes he can feel on his ass. Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs Clint's clothes, making a quick, sloppy nest out of them. 

"Cry a little more, baby," Bucky says as Clint settles down onto his nest. The sun is still brutal, his skin already going tight with a sunburn. He's going to bathe in aloe when he gets back to the tower. 

"I don't see you rubbing your ass in the gravel." Clint reaches back to grab his bow, taking a quick peek down at the watch building. Still no activity. Shocking. 

"Because I'm not a fucking moron." Bucky adjusts his gun, rechecks the sights, and rolls over onto Clint's back. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Fucking Christ, you're heavy," Clint chokes out. He kind of likes having all of Bucky's weight on him, grounding him. It's nothing new, but it always makes him feel a bit better. Even if he can't really breathe all that well. "Wasn't the whole point of this to be less hot?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Bucky asks, his breath too hot against the back of Clint's neck. Bucky lifts up enough to skim two metal fingers down Clint's spine. They're burning hot, almost too much. Clint flinches away from them, but Bucky just flattens his hand across the small of Clint's back. "Keep watching. I need the paycheck."

"Lazy fucker," Clint says. He keeps his fingers wrapped around his bow, eyes on the doorway to the meeting hall. Bucky presses a kiss to the scrape on Clint's ass dutifully, nipping the skin beside it when he's done. When he grinds against Clint's thigh, Clint grins. "Make it good and I'll forgive you."

Clint gets off before they have to put three potential threats down. Bucky doesn't. Clint considers it fair payback for having to dodge a smoke bomb naked. They're never telling Natasha. _Ever_.


End file.
